


it's love, make it hurt

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, Comeplay, F/M, Kink Exploration, Pegging, Rule 63, Spanking, Women in the NHL, kinkshaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: She shoves him back against the hallway wall and looks up into wide, startled eyes.“What the fuck?” she asks him.“What?” Jonas asks her, confused.“You fuckin’ staring at me in the locker room,” she says.“I’m not,” he says, his voice strained. “I mean. I don’t mean to. I mean.”“You’re being a fucking creep,” she says, and pushes him once more.
Relationships: Radko Gudas/Jonas Siegenthaler
Comments: 12
Kudos: 146





	it's love, make it hurt

**Author's Note:**

> i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not. i'm sure this was inspired by the hours of me and llwyncelyn going through the kinkmeme and here we all are, aren't we?
> 
> thanks to sunshinexbomb for the beta as usual.

The rookie is watching her again.

She’s used to men watching her. She’s played with guys who could be creeps about having a woman in the locker room, who would try and catch a glimpse as she changed. And let them look - they’re the creeps and she’s not self conscious in the least. If anyone tried anything, she’d one hundred percent punch them in the face.

No one in Tampa cared. Philly cared, because her captain there was a woman, and she wasn’t going to put up with any of that shit. But there was always someone.

At the very least, she notes that he does look away as she’s changing. Mostly. But he watches her a lot.

She’s sick of it.

She starts watching him, too. She notices that he only watches her. He doesn’t watch Vrana, with her blonde braid and perky tits and her stupid Stanley Cup tattoo. He doesn’t watch Backstrom, either, and maybe it’s because she’s an assistant captain or because she’s a little bit scary, even to Radmila.

She catches him on the way out of Medstar one afternoon, shoves him back against the hallway wall and looks up into wide, startled eyes.

“What the fuck?” she asks him. He’s only a few inches taller than her, and the way she’s shoved him he’s slumped down. She doesn’t have to look up much to meet his eyes.

“What?” Jonas asks her, confused.

“You fuckin’ staring at me in the locker room,” she says, pushing her hand against his sternum and bumping him against the wall again.

He swallows hard, and she watches his eyes flick away from looking at her, then back, then away again.

“I’m not,” he says, his voice strained. “I mean. I don’t mean to. I mean.”

“You’re being a fucking creep,” she says, and pushes him once more.

“I’m not - “ he stutters out. “You’re hot.”

She stops. “What?” Somehow, that’s not what she expected him to say.

She doesn’t have a problem with the way she looks, but not a lot of men call her hot. She’s six feet tall and 200 pounds of muscle, and a lot of men find that intimidating. Which is fine, because she’s trying to intimidate a lot of them. She’s not feminine enough, she’s athletic and androgynous. She’s not _trying_ to be what men tend to think is hot.

And the rookie has been staring at her because he thinks that she’s hot?

“You - you’re hot,” he repeats, and he doesn’t look at her. He’s blushing.

“So you’re staring at me,” she says, confused.

“I want to look at you?” he says, sounding just as confused. “But I can - I’ll stop if you don’t. I know it’s weird. I didn’t mean to be a creep.”

“Well fuck off about it,” she tells him, and turns to walk away.

She looks back over her shoulder, because she knows he’s watching her. She can feel it. And there he is, leaned against the wall, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches her walk away.

She definitely sees his dick pressing against the fabric of his track pants. She plans on ignoring that.

He didn't mean to be staring at her. He certainly didn't mean for her to notice he was doing it.

It's just - he likes girls. He does. And he's played hockey with a lot of women he never gave a second look. He's known Vrana for years, and objectively she's a smoke show. Men fall all over themselves for her in bars, he's seen it.

(She likes attention so she plays coy and lets it happen, but she has a girlfriend in Hershey and everyone on the team knows it.)

And Backstrom - well, he thinks he might be afraid to look at her. Not because he thinks it would make him a creep, but because she's terrifying. Everyone thinks that they have to watch out for Wilson or Ovechkin, but they forget that Backstrom could roll up on them and beat the tar out of them.

But Radmila Gudasova - she's intimidating in a different way. She's more like Backstrom, butch and intimidating with the hits and penalty minutes to back it up. She's been great as his defense partner. He loves playing with her.

He didn't mean to be attracted to her. If he had his way he'd never be attracted to a teammate, but -

He doesn't know what it is. Her attitude, the way she plays hockey, the way she just absolutely doesn't give a fuck what people think of her. He knows they hold women in the league to some kind of weird standard where they have to be tough enough to play with men who will deliberately try and hurt them but also be feminine enough to appeal to the men who watch them.

It's fucked up and they can't win no matter what they do. Pretty girls like Vrana are never hard enough, and girls who are more butch, like Backstrom, aren't pretty enough, feminine enough.

He knows. He sat through the training.

("Fuck them," Backstrom had said at the time. "I'm not trying to be pretty. I'm trying to win a Cup."

"I think you're pretty," Ovechkin had piped up, and Backstrom had put him in a headlock until he yelled for help.)

Radmila's like Backstrom. She's not trying, and she doesn't care what people think. She fights and he thinks she enjoys it a little. He looks it up on hockeyfights after she's traded to the team.

It's - hot.

That was the first mistake he made, getting hot under the collar watching her punch dudes' faces in in shitty video on the internet. It was a slippery slope from there to a particularly vivid dream about her pulling his hair with one hand and the other around his throat and - 

He hasn't had a wet dream in years and he's pretty resentful about it now as he loads his sheets into the washing machine.

When she confronts him about staring at her - and he was, he knows he was - she shoves him against the wall and he's so hard so fast he's almost dizzy with it. He doesn't know if she notices.

She bounces him off the wall a couple more times before walking away, but not before he embarrasses himself telling her she's hot and she tells him to fuck off.

It's fair. And maybe he is a creep, but he jerks off thinking about her shoving him against the wall, grabbing him and _hurting him,_ just a little, and he comes so hard his vision goes a little black around the edges.

He is extraordinarily fucked.

They're in a hotel on the road and he's half asleep on the bed, headphones in watching some stupid video someone put into the group chat.

(Hotel rooms are the worst possible place to keep having nocturnal emissions, kill him now, he's already Googled if you can go through puberty a second time but also he's pretty sure Sammy would be making fun of him if Sammy knew the English for 'wet dream,' because he's sure it's in no way discreet.

And if Sammy does know the English for it, Jonas is a) grateful he hasn't said anything but also b) Sammy probably asked one of the other Russians what the words were and that's a road that Jonas can't go down, because it makes him want to fall on a skate blade out of sheer embarrassment.)

There's a knock on the door, which neither of them gets up to answer.

"You go," Jonas says when the knock comes again, and Sammy makes a face that indicates he has no intention of getting out of his bed. "Probably more likely for you anyway."

The polite knocking turns into pounding and Jonas knows almost all of the Russian words that come out of Sammy's mouth then. Pretty rude to say that about Jonas's mother, when Sammy has never even met her.

"Is for you," Sammy says once the door is open, and he comes stalking back to his bed, flopping down on it. Goalies are dramatic as hell.

Radmila follows him. Jonas freezes.

"Come with me," she commands him, and - he looks over at Sammy, who raises an eyebrow at him.

"For what?" Jonas asks, even as he's getting up and stuffing his phone and a room key into the pocket of his sweatpants and putting on his slides.

"You'll see," she tells him, and that feels ominous. Maybe she's decided to kill him for staring at her and being a creep after all. He probably deserves it.

He follows her out into the hallway and down to her room. Must be nice to have your own room and not have to worry about your road roommate hearing you get off in your sleep.

He doesn't have fucking control of that! He's asleep!

Once the door snicks shut behind them, she's slamming him against the wall hard enough it makes him a little breathless. He knows someone has to have heard it but that's the last thing he worries about when she kisses him so hard their teeth click together.

She presses in against him and he knows she must be able to feel how hard he is already. He’s fucked. He hates that she has this effect on him and -

“You want this?” she asks him, and he’s not sure what this is, but the answer is probably yes.

“What?” he asks, because he’s an idiot.

“Me. You want me,” she says, and it’s not a question, not really. It’s the truth. He wants her.

“Yeah,” he says.

She fists her hands in the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him away from the wall just to shove him back against it again.

“You like it rough?” she asks him, and scrapes her teeth across his jawline.

“I - I think so,” he says. He doesn’t know. He’s never been with anyone who would be rough with him. He’s never been with anyone who was - well, strong enough or tough enough to shove him against the wall like she has with any force.

“You think?” she asks. “‘Cause it seems like you’re into it.”

She grabs his dick. 

She’s not gentle about it, and it kind of hurts - but in the best way. She gives him a squeeze and he feels like he’s going to come in his sweatpants before he ever even gets to touch her. 

“Yes,” he says - hisses through his teeth. “Yesyesyesyes.”

“Come on,” she says, and tugs him by his sweatshirt away from the wall, tugging him after her as she walks toward the bed. “Show me this is worth it.”

“What?” he asks. He doesn’t understand what she means.

“You keep staring, so you like something you see,” she says. “So show me what’s in it for me.”

“Oh,” he says.

She reaches out and she unzips his sweatshirt. He doesn’t have a t-shirt on underneath it, because he’d changed and had just been lounging in bed and - it’s not like she hasn’t seen him stripped down to his shorts in the locker room, but suddenly he feels shy about it.

“You’re shy now?” she asks, when he starts to pull his sweatshirt back closed. “You stare at me all the time and now you don’t want me to look at you?”

“No, I - “ he starts.

“What do you want?” she asks. She plops down on the edge of the bed and looks up at him. Her hair’s squashed flat to her head from putting a toque on over her wet hair, and at this angle he’s acutely aware of the fact that she’s not wearing anything under her own sweatshirt.

“What do you mean?” he asks her.

“You want to fuck me?” she asks. She leans back on her hands and looks up at him. It’s not coy, or cute like girls he’s been with before. It’s bold, brazen. She’s sexy. “Or you want me to fuck you?”

“Both?” he says, unsure if she’s even actually interested in that. It feels like she’s fucking with him. She thinks he’s a creep and she’s trying to prove a point.

But she laughs when he says it, tipping her head back. “Is that what you think about when you jerk off? Me fucking you?”

“I don’t think about you when I - “ he starts to say, but she just stares at him, like she knows he’s lying. He’s absolutely lying.

“Take off your clothes, Jonas,” she says, and God, he’s never even heard her say his actual fucking name before. He shrugs out of his hoodie and flips his slides off his feet before pushing his sweatpants down off his hips.

She doesn’t even make a secret of looking at him. She sits up and unzips her own hoodie.

“Get on the bed,” she tells him.

Her body, hot and a little wet where she presses against his stomach, is heavy on top of his when she straddles him, her own sweats discarded on the floor. She leans forward and kisses him, but at the same time, she slides her hands down his arms, and he breathes in sharp when her fingers close around his wrists, and she’s rough when she pulls his arms up to pin them above his head.

He rocks his hips up against her.

“You like that?” she asks, moving her head to kiss along his jaw. “You want me to be rough with you? I saw you in the hall after I shoved you against the wall that day, you know. You were hot for it.”

“Yeah,” he says.

“What else do you like?” she asks him. “What do you want me to do to you.”

He swallows and feels like his heart is in his throat. What does he say to something like that? That he fantasizes about her pulling his hair and wrapping her hand around his throat while he fucks her? He’s not going to say that.

Instead, he says, “whatever you want,” which makes her laugh.

“Smart boy,” she says to him, and squeezes his wrists where she’s got them pinned to the bed. He could probably pull away from her if he wanted to. But it would take effort. 

She switches to pin him with one hand, using her weight to hold his wrists against the bed. He can feel as she puts her hand between them, touching herself. She’s straddling his stomach, his cock is hard against her ass, and she’s fucking fingering herself.

“Let me,” he says, and tugs gently at her grip.

“No,” she says, her voice a little more breathy. “You said whatever I want.”

Her fingers keep brushing across his stomach, and he feels her getting more wet, more slick as she rocks her hips against her own hand, against his body. It’s pretty hot, even if he’s aching for her to touch him, to do anything but hold him down.

He’s not ready when she pulls her hand away, when she wraps her hand around his cock, fingers wet and slick. She strokes him a couple of times, then lets go of his hands completely, reaching out. She’s got a fucking condom on the nightstand and it rustles loud in the quiet of the room as she rips it open. She moves just enough that she can see to put it on him.

“Hey,” she says, and he looks up and meets her eyes. “You good?”

“So good,” he says.

She lifts herself up just enough that she can guide him in, and brings her hands back up. He hasn’t moved his hands. She didn’t tell him he could move his hands. Should he have moved his hands?

“You’re a good boy,” she whispers into his ear and God help him, he whimpers at the words, at the feel of his cock inside her as she pins his wrists again with wet fingers. The other hand she brings down, slipping her fingers into his hair. “Is your hair long because you like it pulled?”

She punctuates it with a tug on his hair.

“No,” he says. He’s never thought of it like that. “But do it again.”

She tugs his head back by the hair, tipping his mouth up as she bends down to kiss him, as she fucks herself on his cock. She lets go of his wrists to push her hand back between them, to get herself off. She pulls his hair even harder when she comes and it makes him yelp, while her body clenches around him.

He hasn’t even come yet when she pulls off, flops down on the bed next to him, stroking herself lazily with one hand. “Get yourself off,” she tells him, twisting his hair around her fingers as she lays next to him, pulling too hard.

He tugs the condom off and jerks himself off, come splattering against her hip. She turns her head and kisses him, pushing herself up. 

“Such a good boy,” she says to him. “You better clean us up and go back to your room before Sammy thinks I killed you.”

He doesn’t want to get out of bed, particularly, but he’s pretty sure that this is all predicated on him doing exactly as he’s told. He gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom, tossing the condom out and wasting tissues to wipe come and whatever else off his cock and hip bones. He goes back and does the same for her.

“Use the cloth next time,” she says as he’s pulling his sweats back on. “Warm water. I’m a lady.”

“Bull shit,” he says to her, and she laughs.

“Kiss me goodnight and get out of here,” she says.

He does what he’s told.

So it’s a thing.

It’s not a big deal, because it’s super common for teammates to sleep together. So that’s not the problem. Well, none of it’s a problem, except for how easy he is for her and how he’ll do anything she says and how much she gets off on hurting him, just a little.

Which is fine, because he seems to get off on it too.

He still watches her, but it’s different now. He looks at her like she’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Sometimes he catches her eye in the locker room and smiles at her, and it’s so similar to the way he smiles up at her when he’s on his knees.

It’s important that he’s enthusiastic, and that he’s willing to learn, because he’s got a lot of dick and only sort of an idea about what to do with it. He’s eager, down on his knees with his face between her thighs, listening to every instruction she gives him as he goes down on her. She keeps him there until he finds the right way to make her come, pulling hard on his hair and nearly suffocating him with her thighs.

She makes him jerk himself off onto her tits, then clean her up with his mouth.

When he’s injured, he lays in bed next to her, her hand stroking through his hair as she looks at strapons on her phone. The harness she picks for function and aesthetic, all leather straps and metal rings that sit low on her hips. The dildo she picks by the sound of his sigh as she scrolls through. The one that he wants her to use on him.

She buys handcuffs that match the harness to use when his shoulder is better, and he doesn’t bother to hide the marks they leave on his wrists after he spends the night struggling against them as she teases him to the edge and doesn’t let him come. 

He yelps when she smacks his ass as she fucks him, his hands shackled to the headboard. He moans for more, and she’s happy to give him what he wants, smacking him until her hand is sore and his skin is hot and red and he’s lying limp on the bed in his own come.

She likes trying things with him. They try tying her up once, but it’s awkward and they both hate it. She wants to be in control, and he wants her to be. She learns how long she can keep teasing him before he gets genuinely pissed off at her. He gags so hard when they play at him sucking her cock that he refuses to try it again.

They each learn what the other likes best - and sure, the sex is incredible, but it’s fun, too.

He’s on his back on her bed, spread-eagle, with his wrists and ankles shackled as she rides him. She’s got one hand fisted in his hair, which she knows he loves, and she closes her other hand around his throat.

He comes as soon as she squeezes and cuts off his breathing, and she stops moving her hips, startled.

“Holy shit,” she says to him, and laughs, delighted, loosening her hand on his throat. “I guess you liked that.”

She’s breathless and almost there, and she sits back on her heels with his cock still inside her, reaches down and strokes her fingertips across her clit until she comes in a hot gush.

She’s the one that has to clean up after that, throwing away the condom and unshackling his limbs from the bed. He curls up on his side and she throws an arm around him and strokes a hand through his hair. Her good boy, her beautiful boy.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted me to choke you?” she asks him.

“Don’t know,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.

“Do you want me to do it again sometime?” she asks. Of all the things.

“Yes,” he exhales, his face pressed against her neck. She can feel his lips as he nuzzles against her.

She feels a sharp twinge of fondness. It’s not just sex anymore, she thinks. She really likes him. She has actual feelings for him.

That’s okay, she thinks.

“Hey dude, you okay?”

Jonas looks up from where he’s untying his skates to see Carlson standing over him. He runs a hand through his hair, sweaty and gross, and frowns. “Yeah?” he says. “Why?”

“You have - look, I haven’t wanted to say anything, but I’ve noticed that you kind of have - “ Carlson says, awkward in the trying to spit out what he’s saying. “There are fingerprint-shaped bruises on your neck right now.”

Jonas raises a hand up and touches his neck. Are there bruises? Radmila choked him the night before, pretty hard, until he’d almost blacked out. The orgasm had been incredible, and he blushes thinking about it.

“What the fuck is wrong with your wrists?” Carlson continues, and Jonas jerks his hand away from his neck, looks down at his wrists. Okay, so there are marks on his wrists, where the cuffs had started to dig in because he’d been restrained a little too long. Radmila had been good to him after, massaging his shoulders after she’d uncuffed him, petting his hair and telling him how good he was for her.

“Nothing,” Jonas says after too long a pause. It makes him sound guilty, but there’s nothing wrong with his wrists.

“That’s not normal, man,” Carlson says. “You know if you’re like, in trouble, or something, we’ll help you out.”

Jonas just blinks at him, confused. “In trouble?” Jonas asks.

“You know, like. If someone’s hurting you,” Carlson says. He looks around, drops his voice. “I know she’s on the team, but if she’s - you know, if she’s hurting you, you can say.”

“What?” Jonas asks.

“Those are Gudy’s fingerprints, right?” Carlson says. “I mean. I know she’s your girlfriend or whatever but - if your girlfriend is hurting you, that’s not okay.”

Carlson thinks that Radmila’s hurting him? That’s - well, technically, she is, but nothing he hasn’t asked for and he could ask her to stop anytime. But he doesn’t.

“It’s fine,” Jonas says. Carlson frowns, but he drops it.

Jonas forgets about it by the time he’s changed and leaving Medstar. He doesn’t tell Radmila, because he doesn’t think about it. And he doesn’t realize that the conversation has anything to do with Carlson asking him to lunch a few days later.

He realizes what’s happening around the time Ovechkin and Backstrom walk in with Radmila.

“Oh no,” he says. Out loud. Carlson hears him.

“We just want you to be safe,” Carlson says. He’s looking at Jonas with a very serious look on his face.

“What’s going on here?” Radmila asks, tugging her toque off.

“Carly said you hurt him,” Ovechkin says, plopping into one of the chairs. “So we’re having intervention.”

“For… what?” she asks.

“For hurting him,” Ovechkin says. “Maybe it’s accidental, maybe on purpose.”

“I don’t think you guys understand what’s going on here,” Jonas says, his voice quiet. He’s never felt so embarrassed in his life. His team’s leadership is sitting him down to talk because he’s been having kinky sex that’s left him with bruises and he wants to crawl under the table and die.

Backstrom just keeps staring at him, silent. It makes him squirm a little.

“He likes it,” Radmila says. “It’s maybe not for you, but he likes it.”

“Nobody likes being hurt,” Carlson says, frowning at her.

“Let me get this straight,” Backstrom says, leaning back in her chair, running a hand through damp curls and pushing them off her face. “You brought all of us here to embarrass these two because you don’t understand that sometimes people like for sex to be a little painful?”

“I didn’t say anything about sex!” Carlson protests.

“God,” Backstrom says, rolling her eyes. “What do you think those marks on his wrists are?”

“Well, obviously someone’s been doing something to him - “ Carlson says.

“Alex,” Backstrom cuts him off. “Have you ever been handcuffed during sex?”

“Once or twice,” Ovechkin says, shrugging.

“Did it leave marks on your wrists?” she asks.

“I don’t remember. Nothing permanent,” Ovechkin says.

“Did you leave him in the restraints a little too long?” Backstrom says, turning to Radmila. 

“He pulled a little too much and hurt himself," Radmila admits.

“She would’ve let me out if I asked,” Jonas says. “But I didn’t.”

“Right,” Backstrom says. “It’s just handcuffs, you idiots.”

“That doesn’t explain the bruises on his neck,” Carlson says. “Like they got in a fight and she tried to choke him.”

“You’re so boring,” Backstrom says with a sigh. “Do you ever have anything other than missionary sex?” Carlson opens his mouth to say something. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t actually care, it’s not a real question.”

Radmila snorts.

“Did you feel like you could say no if you wanted?” Backstrom says, turning to Jonas. “Even though she was choking you?”

“Yeah,” Jonas says, not looking up.

“Look at me,” Backstrom says. “This is more embarrassing for them than it is for you, Siegs, you can have sex however you want with whoever you want and just because these idiots don’t know anything about kink doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong.”

“I’ve been handcuffed,” Ovechkin says, a little sulky.

“Please be careful choking him,” Backstrom says. “And don’t kill him.”

Radmila reaches a hand over underneath the table and squeezes his thigh, hard. He takes a deep breath after that.

“Sorry,” Carlson finally says, almost like he doesn’t really believe what they’re saying. “I didn’t realize that, you know. You wanted it.”

“I appreciate the concern but can we. Not keep talking about me having sex?” Jonas asks.

Backstrom laughs at that, and Radmila moves her hand from his thigh to put an arm around him and hug him close to her. He drapes his arm across the back of her chair. Carlson’s already called Radmila his girlfriend, he might as well lean in. If everyone knows.

“I think you owe them way more than just lunch for this,” Backstrom says.

“Are you imposing a fine?” Carlson asks.

“Oh, absolutely,” Backstrom says. “Dinner for two for you being an absolute asshole about this whole thing. Anything they want.”

“We should get the expensive wine,” Radmila says.

“You absolutely should!” Backstrom says brightly. Jonas laughs.

“Fuck me,” Carlson mutters.

Carlson buys them a really nice dinner, actually. Or he will, when Radmila gives him the receipt the next morning. They have a nice bottle of wine, good steak, and even dessert.

They make out a little in the back of the Uber home - just a little, nothing that would really be awful to their driver, they’re not monsters. There’s half a bottle of wine in Radmila’s kitchen, and Jonas pushes her up against the counter before she can get it poured for them.

“What do you want me to do to you?” she asks him, twisting her fingers in his hair until she hears him breathe in sharply.

He ducks his head down and presses his mouth to her neck, teeth and tongue and lips and breath hot against her skin.

“Fuck me,” he says, and she feels a shiver down her back as he presses the words into her skin.

She gets him out of his clothes and onto her bed, pressing him face-down with her weight as she pushes her fingers in. He’s not opening up easy for her like he normally would, staying tight around her like he’s nervous about something. She tangles her fingers up in his hair, and she pulls, lifting his head up from the sheets.

“Stop,” he says, as soon as she does.

Startled, she pulls her fingers out with a slick squelch and lets go of his hair, sitting up and pulling away from him immediately. He rolls over onto his back and covers his face with his hands.

“I can’t,” he says to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. It’s not like this is something they’ve never done before. She always pulls his hair. He asked her to fuck him.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just keep thinking about - am I supposed to want this? Want it like this?”

“I don’t understand?” She’s frowning now, and he’s not looking at her, his hands still over his face.

He sighs, and reaches out to tug the sheets over him, like he doesn’t want to be naked in front of her anymore. Like he’s self conscious, and she knows that he’s not. Or he wouldn’t normally be. Something’s wrong.

“Jonas?” she says.

“It’s not normal to want you to hurt me to get me off, is it?” he says. “I can’t stop thinking about Carly - “

“Stop thinking about Carly in bed,” she says, trying to make a joke. “He’s not here.”

“Is this - I know you’re not abusing me. But I’m not supposed to want it like this,” he says.

She feels like she’s going to cry, and she hates crying. Things were fine, and then Carlson shoved his way in where he didn’t belong, and now everything’s fucked up. She has to take a deep breath and close her eyes, and then she moves, unbuckling the harness and leaving it on the bed before shifting to sit with her back against the headboard. She pulls at him, until he moves and comes to rest between her thighs.

She runs her fingers through his hair, gentle. “He doesn’t know anything,” she murmurs, her nose pressed into Jonas’s hair. “We’re happy like this.”

“Are we?” Jonas says. “Because I thought - but I don’t. I can’t stop thinking about if it’s wrong.”

“It’s not wrong to want what you want,” she tells him, and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight to her. “Nicke was there, she understood.”

“Yeah,” he says, and they’re both quiet. The mood is dead.

“You want me to get the wine?” she asks him. “We’ll have a glass of wine, you can run a bath and we’ll just. Be. Together.”

He sighs, and then sits up, pulling away from her before leaning back down to kiss her. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know it was going to fuck me up like this.”

“Don’t let him get to you just because he’s boring,” she says, sitting up so that it’s not such an awkward position for him. “I love you. Go run a bath.”

He freezes, and she realizes what she’s said. And then she realizes that she means it.

“Really?” he whispers, like he’s never had anyone love him before.

“Of course,” she responds. He absolutely lights up, and she feels weirdly warm inside. He even smiles with all his teeth.

He doesn’t say it back, and she thinks it’s okay if he’s not quite ready. He’s young. If he has feelings for her, he’ll get there. Instead, he leans in and kisses her, then gets up and heads into the bathroom.

She hears the water start running and she gets out of bed, heading back to the kitchen where they initially abandoned their wine glasses. She washes the lube off her hands and pours the rest of the wine into the glasses - and if it’s more than a ‘glass’ who is there to judge them? - and goes back to the bathroom.

Jonas is waiting for her in the tub as the water runs, his knees pulled up and his arms resting across the top. He’s just staring into space as he waits, but he looks up when he realizes she’s in the doorway. There aren’t any bubbles, because they had an incident with bubbles once, and he’s stacked towels on the floor next to the side.

It’s a big, deep soaking tub and both of them fit easily, and she settles between his legs and leans back against him, her wine glass in one hand and her other hand on his thigh. She likes the way her legs look folded up with his, her skin so pale and his so much darker, and his tattoed forearm wrapped tight across her abdomen. His other arm is stretched across the edge of the tub, his glass in hand.

She turns off the water and leans her head back against his chest and - it’s not how she planned for the rest of the night to go, and she doesn’t think that he planned for this, either. It’s quiet for a long time, just the two of them, the heat of the water and their bodies pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” he says, after a long time. He nuzzles his nose down into her hair, taking a deep breath.

“You don’t have to be,” she says. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’ve never tapped out before,” he says.

She takes her hand off his thigh and reaches over to lace her fingers through his where his arm is wrapped around her. “You let it get to your head. You second guessed it. You know what you want, though.”

“You,” he says. “From the start.”

“From the day you saw me in the locker room,” she says. It’s somewhere between a statement and a question.

“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t know I was going to love you, though.”

“You do?” she asks, a little surprised. She hadn’t expected him to say that at all.

“Yes,” he says. He sounds sure. Confident. Like her boy again.

She almost spills her wine sitting up, getting onto her knees and turning around to kiss him.

Even though things with Radmila are okay, Jonas is actually furious with Carlson for fucking up his head. And he says as much when they’re in the locker room the next afternoon.

“What?” Carlson says.

“I have never,” Jonas hisses at him, “had to safeword out of her pulling my hair because it hurt instead of making my dick hard and you know what, Carly? I don’t _like_ that.”

“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that to me,” Carlson says.

“It’s your fault!” Jonas says, his voice getting louder. A couple of the other guys look toward them.

“How is it my fault?” Carlson asks. “I wasn’t pulling - I didn’t - “

“You staged an _intervention_ because you thought she was abusing me and it fucked me up and now my girlfriend can’t fuck me like I like,” Jonas says.

“I don’t like this conversation,” Carlson says.

“I don’t like you sticking your nose in my sex life,” Jonas says.

This time, he’s loud enough that Backstrom slides over and loops an arm around him, pulling him away. “Okay,” she says. “Enough of this.”

“He fucked me up,” Jonas says petulantly.

“Yeah, well, he’s an idiot,” Backstrom says. “Take a deep breath. Let it go.”

“I just. Want to be able to have sex the way I’m used to having sex without like. Getting in my head about it and having it hurt instead of feeling good like - “ He flaps his hands through the air.

“Start slow,” she says. “You’re gonna have to come back from it. You’ll get back to where you want to be. What you like.”

Jonas exhales sharply through his nose. “I just want it to be normal,” he says.

“That is _not_ normal,” Carlson says.

“Shut up, John,” Backstrom says. “Let people enjoy what they enjoy. Have Gina stick a finger up your ass some time, fuck’s sake.”

Jonas barks out a laugh before he can help himself.

His fingers are wrapped around the chains of the cuffs and his eyes are closed and she can feel him breathing underneath her where she’s sitting on his stomach, her knees on either side of his chest.

“You okay?” she asks him. She leans forward and strokes her fingers down one of his forearms, over the ink tattooed into his skin.

“Yeah,” he says. They’re having to go slow again, build their way back up to Jonas being able to take the punishment she was able to give him before he let Carlson get in his head. He’s quiet and still underneath her, though, they way he always has been when she’s cuffed him up on his back.

“Can I pull your hair?” she asks, stroking her fingers down the side of his face. He turns his face toward her hands, lets her fingers slip into his mouth. She brings her other hand up to stroke through his hair as his tongue swirls around her fingers.

“Yeah,” he manages to say around her fingers, and she pulls hard, tugging firmly until his head goes back, exposing his neck in a long arch that she can dig her teeth into.

He doesn’t stop her from pulling his hair for the first time in weeks. Instead, he goes pliant under her hands, lets her pull at him. It’s good - next time she can get him on his stomach, press his face into the pillows until he can’t breathe while she fucks him with the strap.

He’s not ready to take the strap yet. She knows.

Instead, she pulls his head back by his hair and eases herself down on his dick, riding him while she licks and bites his neck. When she bites, she feels his body jerk underneath hers, straining at the restraints that hold his hands and feet in place.

“Okay?” she whispers, pressing the word into his skin. He doesn’t answer, just exhales and thrusts his hips upward forcing a gasp from her. She laughs, and sets her teeth into his skin again, making him gasp in turn.

Later, she massages his ankles, sitting on the bed between his legs while he halfheartedly rubs his own wrists.

“Are you really okay?” she asks him. “You’re not just pushing through things because you want to be able to?”

“Huh?” he asks her, confused by the question, still a little out of it. She shifts and she leans down and takes his wrists in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over the soft places on the insides, already rubbed a little raw.

“Did you keep going because you were really okay?” she asks him, “or because you think you should be able to do it. Or because you think it’s what I want?”

“Rads,” he says.

“I mean it,” she says.

“I’m really okay,” he says. He pulls his wrists out of her hands and tangles his fingers in her hair. “I miss you fucking me.”

She laughs at him then.

The sheets are soaked with sweat and lube and come and Jonas is so exhausted he can’t even move. Radmila keeps touching him, her fingers on his raw, sensitive skin where she’s spanked him, slipping her fingers between his legs to tease at him. He jumps, trying to get away from her when she brushes her finger over his hole, swollen and sensitive from her fucking him with her strap.

She laughs when he squirms away from her.

“No more?” she asks, her voice quiet as she nudges her face against his, pushes his hair out of his face. It’s stuck there with sweat and tears and spit, and he stretches toward her until he can kiss her. “No more.”

She rubs her hand over his back as they kiss, but doesn’t touch him anywhere else, not his too-sensitive skin, not between his legs, not his cock where it’s trapped between their messy sheets and his stomach where he’s still lying face down.

“You feel like you can get up and get to the shower while I strip the sheets?” she asks him. It’s one of the things he likes about being with her, that she’ll take him apart, make him come and cry and everything in between, but she always takes care of him after. She’s supposed to, he knows, but she gives him what he needs, which is just holding onto him while he gets it together.

“Yeah, give me another couple of seconds,” he says. She strokes her fingers through his hair, pressing against him, her skin hot against his. She’ll strip the sheets and put on new ones, then join him in the shower.

“When you’re ready,” she says to him, blunt nails scratching down his spine. He always wants more. He always wants her. He’s not physically able to handle more. Not tonight.

He’s exhausted. He feels wrung out, raw. He wants to go to sleep.

That’s when he knows he needs to get out of bed.

He pushes himself up and gets out of bed, wobbling into the bathroom. The shower at her place always heats up a lot faster than the shower at his, which is nice. He steps in and rinses the sweat and tears off his face, holding his breath under the spray until his body forces him to breathe. He’s just finishing washing his hair when Radmila steps into the shower with him.

She presses up against him, her tits against his chest, and he leans his head down to rest against her as the water beats down on them.

“You’re okay?” she asks. She asks him a lot more lately. But he is. They had a hard time for a little while, but they’re okay now.

“I’m fantastic,” he tells her. He’s exhausted down to his bones, and his skin feels raw in some places when the water hits it. He leans his head down and rests his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tight against him, just for a few moments.

He can feel her smiling as she kisses him, letting her hands roam down his back. She slips her fingers between his cheeks, wiping away lube and making his knees feel weak when she brushes across the places where he’s still so sensitive.

She cleans him up, hands that were so rough with him earlier now gentle as she rinses everything off his overstimulated body, gentle on his dick and between his thighs.

“Go ahead and put yourself to bed,” she tells him, pulling him in for a long kiss.

“Okay,” he says, and gives a couple more seconds under the spray to make sure everything is rinsed off.

He towels off, scrubs the towel over his hair to get as much of the water out as he can. She’s still in the shower when he finishes up brushing his teeth. He’s already between the sheets when she finally comes out, half dozed off with exhaustion. He doesn’t even open his eyes when her fingers tangle in his hair, and he rolls to rest his head against her shoulder.

“Tired you out,” she says, her voice quiet. He stretches his body against the length of hers, sticking toes off the end of the bed.

“Yeah,” he says, without opening his eyes.

“Good,” she says, tangling their legs together. “I love you.”

“I know,” he says. She smacks him on the ass at that. Even through the sheets, it makes him jump. He’s so sore. “I love you too, you know.”

“I do,” she says.

He presses his smile into her shoulder as they settle in to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @notedgoon


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